


"You're annoying, it's cute."

by wetshoes



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Fluffy, M/M, So so fluffy, but its muke so, coffee shop AU, cute cute, idk what this is it just happened, loving insults, michael hair dye evolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4101742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wetshoes/pseuds/wetshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Arrogant boy, cause a-”<br/>“Calum, shut the fuck up!”<br/>“-Scene like you're supposed to, like blondie over here.”</p><p>In which Michael has worked in the same old coffee shop since he can remember and makes a habit out of singing the finest of All Time Low every chance he gets; oh, and Luke just happens to have the loudest mouth imaginable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"You're annoying, it's cute."

“You're annoying, it's cute.” 

The coffee shop was only a few minutes away from the heart of the city. If you wander, if you lose yourself as you walk down streets that seem to fade back into time, perhaps you may just stumble upon it. It was a little cafe, nothing like the shiny local Costa or the cafe Nero down the busy high streets; it wasn't loud and filled with busy people like the Starbucks that crop up everywhere or the Ground that lounged above the book store everyone knows. It was a simple place really, not one for going all out on the holidays and never a bathroom without a working light; it was small and tucked away, as if not really wanting to be seen at all. 

It was the kind of little shop you could only ever find if you were looking for it, hidden and cosy between an old book store - everything inside second hand with bookmarks scattered between dog eared pages - and a humble little florists. It was hidden with its soft fairy lights in the window that went up in October and stayed up well past Christmas time with its old blue door. To find it without actually knowing of its existence couldn't be anything but dumb luck, unless your name is Michael Clifford because then, you may just grudgingly call it fate.

Michael Clifford was sixteen years old whenever he first came across the old cafe. He had gotten lost after he set out on his oh-so-valiant mission to pick up the dress his mother ordered from the new tailors in town. He lived close enough to the city to just walk on into the heart of it, even if the walk would take him around twenty minutes at the very least, not including the time he waits for the lights to change so he can cross the road. His mother had asked him to go get it for her and even though he did put up an effort to fight against it because even though she says he is doing nothing, his guild really needs him for their raid at seven o'clock because one does not simply go up against a boss without their best healer: but none the less at five o'clock when he really should have been trying to level up again, he set out to get a dress he's never seen from a store he has never been to. Truthfully, Michael would have walked right past the coffee shop without a care, his earphones in as he tried to find his way about while listening to old Green Day songs he never seems to get sick of – well, he would have, had it not been for the little white card that hung on the window. 'Help Wanted'. That day a sixteen year old Michael Clifford realised two things. One, he had a terrible sense of direction and two, his guild really needed that healer. At half past eight he stumbled home, no dress in hand but a grin on his face though his mother’s yelling may have deafened him ever so slightly and he may have been sent to his room for the night: he may not have had her dress, and he may have missed his raid, what he did have was a job.

Three years later Michael still had the very same job. Sure, now he wasn't working in the back and cleaning dishes until closing time where he got to sweep the floors, but it was still the same old shop from those years before that somehow became kind of like another home along the way. Instead of cleaning dishes he was taking orders, and instead of sweeping floors he was working at the till (not to mention cleaning the occasional dish whenever the boy who does them now calls in sick when he's hungover). But, on the odd occasion he'll grab his old acoustic from the back, sit down on that old rickety stool at the front and play for an extra ten dollars an hour – even though he only plays once or twice a week. 

Truthfully, he would have done it even if he wasn't getting paid, he just likes the chance to be able to play. He only did it because it was his chance to be able to play somewhere and for actual people instead of the posters that lined the walls of his obnoxiously small bedroom. Music was his real passion, after all he may like working at the little coffee shop but cleaning tables and making coffee gets a little repetitive at times.  
It was six thirty on a Saturday night, also known as the time Michael's shift ends. Saturday nights were by far Michaels favourite, not because his mother was never home which gave him free reign of the fridge and the ability to curse like a sailor at the horrifyingly dense people he comes across in LoL. It's because on Saturday nights, when the cafe is quiet with college students finishing their papers instead of partying, adults coming near the end of a date and teenagers trying to avoid going home, it's when he gets to play. Sometimes he plays on other days, but Saturday is the day he never has to miss. So as soon as the hands of the clock swirled around from two o'clock to six thirty Michael was already untying his old faded apron – now with a few new stains from the day’s work – from around his waist, folding it over his arm as he ducked below the counter, grabbing his bag from underneath it and making his way to the bathrooms.

It was quiet in the little cafe, but Michael didn't mind. He smiled at the people he weaved through that sat in the little tables with their miss matched wooden stools and chairs that littered the floor of the little shop. The cafe wasn't small per say, even though Michael referred to it that way. It was cosy and it wasn't as big as the Starbucks that was at the corner of the street a few minutes away. It was more compact but it had a fireplace they lit in the winter with armchairs around it and pillows all about the place, it felt more like someone's living room than a business. That was probably the best part of the little cafe. Michael pushed against the men’s bathroom door, his bag over his shoulder as his hip pressed against the cold wood while he started undoing the buttons of his uniform plain black shirt.

Thankfully the bathroom was empty as the lilac haired boy stripped off his work shirt, walking over to one of the stalls while doing so. Michael somewhat knew in the back of his mind as he slipped into the cubical that no one was probably going to come into the bathrooms for the next while anyways, so there wasn't much of a point of him going to the effort of locking the stall door as he shoved the button down shirt into his bag after pulling out his change of clothes, after all, no one really comes into the bathrooms that much and there weren't many guys out there tonight either. But Michael still did, remembering with a grimace as he pulled on his long sleeve grey shirt the one time a guy did happen to walk in on him changing, it brought back horrifying memories of the locker rooms in high school and neither of them were comfortable for the next thirty seconds it took the then green haired boy to relocate into the stall. So he decided to be safe than sorry ever since and hide in the stalls to get changed from then on.

Today hadn't been the best for Michael, he was reminded of that as – with an almighty struggle – he changed out of his black work jeans. They were covered in patches of white dust, also known as icing sugar. A few hours before, not long after his shift started at that, Michael got into a spot of trouble when it turns out a woman sitting by the window found out her boyfriend cheated on her. The lilac haired boy wasn't sure what good came from her flinging her powdery pastry at the man, only to hit Michael square in the crotch before barging past him and causing him to pour coffee over himself, happily that avoided his manhood. That was the biggest dump on Michael’s pile of shit day, but he looked past that, deciding to ignore all of it because tonight he got to play.

After successfully managing to pull on his spare pair of black skinny jeans – identical to those he wore to work but with rips and tears he could quite remember if he caused over the past months of owning them – he stood in front of one of the three identical sinks, with his bag over his shoulder again as he pushed his hand through his fading hair, trying and failing to make it look at least somewhat decent. Ignoring the fact that it would only worsen his drastically thinning hair, Michael did the only thing he could think of that could save him from his horrible hair day. He put on a snapback, and prayed to God he doesn't go bald within the next year.

“Hiding your bald spot I see.”

Michael rolled his eyes at the voice that came from behind him, he couldn't help but give its owner a rather unamused look in the mirror. “I don't have a bald spot, Ash.”

Ashton was leaning against the bathroom door, his smile or perhaps smirk since they look the same to Michael, tugging at his lips. The lilac haired boy wasn't surprised to see his curly haired friend considering he had the next shift, also known as the last one of the night since he was trusted to lock up. It wasn't that big of a surprise, considering he was the owner’s son and all.

“Yet, Mikey. Yet. I think we both know your chances of handing a full head of hair in ten years’ time are drastically low,” Ashton said and yes, it turns out that is most certainly a smirk on his lips, Michael realised in annoyance.

“Oh ha ha, you're so funny,” The lilac boy replied dryly, rolling his eyes and fixing the hat on his head, almost considering taking it off for a second due to his friends haunting words before pushing himself away from the sink with an all-too-confident grin as he patted his friends shoulder. “At least even if I'm bald I'd still get someone in bed before you could, mate.”

“Hey, I get laid!” Ashton exclaimed as Michael pushed open the door of the bathrooms, walking out without a word as the curly haired boy followed after him.

“Mhm, sure you do curly,” Michael replied as he brushed past Danny at the till and slipped out back to grab his guitar which lay against the wall.

“You're a dick,” Ashton huffed, and Michael just decided not to bother fighting the truth.

::

“So um, my name is Michael Clifford, which I'm sure about half of you already know due to the fact I served you about half an hour ago. Because you know, I uh, work here. Yeah...”

No matter how many times he finds himself sitting on the rickety old stool at the front of the cafe with his feet perched awkwardly on the little bar just before the legs meet the ground and his guitar on his lap, strap over his shoulder – Michael can never seem to rid himself of his awkward tendencies. It was eight o'clock on the dot, his guitar was freshly tuned and his snapback snug on his head with the sparsely filled occupancies of the cafe watching him with small smiles and amused expressions.

“Anyways! Uh, this is Therapy and I uh, well I hope you enjoy it? If not, please don't pour coffee on me I have a low tolerance for scalding hot liquids,” Biting his lip, the lilac haired boys’ nerves got the best of him as he blushed, a sheepish pink tinge to his cheeks at the soft laughter that followed his words that he never meant to say.

Michael knew his fear would ebb away as soon as he began to play, but it was that moment before that always made him hesitate. That little moment right as the people watching fall silent and his heart is beating so loud and he almost dropped his pick from his hands that were sweating so much. But it only took a few seconds before his fingers were on the strings, plucking out the same melody that he's been practising since the day he first heard it. And just like that, as the first lyrics passed his lips and silence fell in the little coffee shop just off the main city streets, it was like he was alone, playing with only his posters at his audience and his mum listening slyly outside his door like he didn't know.

And he just played, falling into the music like he would be embraced by arms. That is, until he was forcibly ripped out of them.

Michael tried to ignore it, he really did. Michael's effort was damn well valiant as he continued singing, half way through the song whenever it started to piss him off. There is an unwritten rule about when someone plays in the shop, you pay attention and you talk quietly, you can pick one or the other or just stick with both if it pleases you. But if there is one thing you do not do and it is talk loudly.

“Arrogant boy, love yourself so no one has to…” Michael could barely focus on his singing, it took a surprising amount of effort to play normally due to the loud voices. Michael is good with noise, he's fine with it normally. But he's in a bad mood, and this is his favourite song.

The talking originated from the table right in front of him, and he could tell other people weren't amused either. There were two boys sitting there, one blond and pale, the other dark haired and tanned. At first their talking was fine and after all, Michael couldn't expect them to just shut up just because he was singing, no, that would be arrogant and probably cause a scene. But, they just got louder. And louder.

“They're bet-”

“Oh my God!”

“…Better off without you,” Michaels jaw tightened at the sudden outburst of the blond in front of him, but he willed himself not to make a comment. This was his job, he can't do something stupid like bitch about someone talking. He can deal with it, right? He couldn't help but find it rather ironic the blond cut him off at that line, but maybe that's the negative side of his mind talking again as he pushed it aside, continuing as if nothing had happened at all.

“Arrogant boy, cause a-”

“Calum, shut the fuck up!”

“-Scene like you're supposed to, like blondie over here.” Michael's fingers stilled on the strings as his eyes narrowed at the blond boy sitting in front of him.

Everyone seemed to stop.

“Well? You obviously wanted our attention. So, what for?” The lilac haired boy stared pointedly at the boys that sat in front of him as everyone’s eyes seemed to be on them. Michael avoided looking away from the blond who's back was somewhat turned to him, though his tanned friend's eyes seemed to widen at the fact they were being addressed. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Ashton staring at him from the till like he was a mad man, and well, he was considering he was a man, and he was a rather mad one at this current moment though which sense of the word was up for debate.

“Oh come on, cat got your tongue? Share with us your important news, after all it must be a big deal if you're yelling about it.” The blond slowly turned as Michael spoke, and the lilac haired boy wasn't surprised at the wide eyed look he received from him. Had it been any other moment, Michael would have quite happily made a comment on how he was rather attractive with bright blue eyes – now slightly wide with what could be fear and hopefully embarrassment – and his blonde hair pushed up in some kind of quiff, a black shirt with stars on the arms. But, he was a bit busy wanting to murder him.

“Oh, me?” The blond boy's cheeks were aflame, as his eyes darted around as if avoiding the lilac haired boy that sat with his guitar. “Well, um you see now... It's uh, well. Um.”

“We don't speak awkward teen,” Michael commented dryly, a quirk of his eyebrows as he waited for a legitimate response while praying on the inside he doesn't get fired for this.

“Oh, uh… Oh.” Michael just rolled his eyes at that point.

“Well you see it's, really it's kind of a funny story. My friend here, um – Calum! Yes, Calum!” The blond stuttered before grabbing his friends shoulder, causing the brown eyed boy beside him to have an almost comical look of surprise at suddenly being roped into this.

“Oh trust me, we're all aware of his name considering you just a yelled it a minute ago.” Michael commented from where he sat with his guitar now abandoned on his lap as the blond seemed to deflate with a small and vaguely pitiful, “Oh.”

“Now, are you going to tell us or are you just going to keep on stuttering? If it helps you can write it down on a piece of paper, I'm sure your friend will happily read it out for you.” He suggested with a 'kind' smile and in that moment he swore he has never been more sarcastic in his life.

“Well, um... Calum just uh, he said that it – as in Therapy - is a really great song and stuff… And then I uh, funny times I- um, I said 'yeah, so is his face', cause you know, you have a nice face and, stuff? And then Calum said something that I can't repeat because it's dirty and there's children here...” The blonds face was practically scarlet as he squirmed a little in his seat, his hands moving from rubbing the back of his neck to on his lap as he tugged on his sleeves, pulling them over his hands every few words. “But then I was all like, 'I kind want his number', you know, him being you. And Calum went like, 'and you also want his-' well- I can't repeat that. So I went 'oh my god' and he went like, 'you know you want to' and said stuff... And then I was all like, 'Calum shut the-' ye'no, and then you got mad and stuff... Fun times...”

Michael was silent whenever the blond spoke, observing him with a painfully blank expression, even after he finished speaking. He still sat there for a second, staring at the blond who just squirmed in his seat with an uncomfortable look on his face as he tugged on the cuffs of his star covered sleeves. “Okay,” Michael said simply as he lifted up his guitar from where it lay flat on his lap, his fingers ready on the strings once again.  
“Okay?” The lilac haired boy looked up to the blond again, noticing his confused look as he shrugged his shoulders slightly in response to his questioning tone.

“Okay, you can have my number,” Michael stated slowly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know, if you shut up for the rest of my set since I'm kind of working right now.”

Really, it was shocking how quiet one teenage boy could be for a half hour.

::

“So, you gave him your number?”

It was Monday morning, so it wasn't a surprise that the cafe was filled with adults sipping their black coffee to get them through the day. A muffin to the side as they try to finish off whatever they're working on while the odd teenager sits in the corner, ditching class with their fingers curled around a cup of something to keep them awake, ear phones in to ignore the world they keep thinking they can escape. Michael's forearms rested on the counter he leaned back against, watching the crowd as he waited for someone to leave so he could pick up what they leave behind.

“Gave who my number?” The lilac haired boy questioned, looking over his shoulder to meet Ashton's questioning gaze from across the till.

Monday mornings were one of the few times that the two friends actually worked at the same time considering Ashton is currently in university so he doesn't have as much free time as Michael, who never even finished high school. He was a drop out, unlike Ashton he couldn't stick the school system for longer than he had to so when given the chance to leave, well, let’s just say there was a bonfire out back and he hasn't seen his uniform since.

“Saturday night,” Ashton said, as if it was going to jog the memory of the lilac haired boy who just looked at him blankly. “The blond guy, you know the one that interrupted your set?”

“Oh him!” Michael realised with a nod of his head before then shaking it, looking back to the occupants of the cafe, checking to see if anyone had moved yet. “Nah.”

“What do you mean 'nah'?” The curly haired boy questioned rather loudly, causing his friend to roll his eyes at the sudden outburst as he looked over his shoulder to him once again, noticing his disbelieving expression.

“Nah. As in no. As in nope. As in I did not. As in no way. As in-”

“Jesus Christ, Michael. I know what nah means,” Ashton replied with a roll of his eyes which just caused Michael to shrug again. “I mean why? As in why did you not give the cute guy your number? I thought you have a thing for dorky guys who cause second hand embarrassment?”

Michael could understand his friends confusion, truth be told that is his type. He'll never understand why, but people who embarrass themselves and act like they have the word dork permanently branded onto their forehead seem to attract him. And it was true, that blond boy certainly did cause a lot of second hand embarrassment and seemed very dorky. Plus he was hot. That was a lovely bonus.

“Like you said, he interrupted my set,” Michael replied as his eyes skimmed across the people sitting in the quiet cafe before pushing himself away from the counter, deciding that since no one was moving he'd rather take a seat to wait. 

“I would never go out with a guy who interrupts one of my sets. That's just wrong on so many levels,” The green eyed boy added as he walked around the counter to come to a stop beside his friend, pulling out one of the little bar stools they tucked under the counter to sit on it.

“But he was hot,” Was Ashton's deadpan response, hazel eyes scrutinizing Michael’s entire existence with a single glance. He was clearly done with the lilac haired boy’s bullshit. So done.

“He interrupted my set,” Michael said simply, because really, that was his only real reason he was willing to share.

“He was hot.”

“Ash, he interrupted my set.”

“Michael, he was hot.”

“Asht-”

“Michael Gordon Clifford that boy was hot, obviously gay and asked for your number. You have not had a date in the past year and you turned down a hot, gay, blond boy asking for your number. What the fuck is wrong with you? Do I need to admit you to some hospital and tell your mother that you've gone crazy because with the way this conversation is going I think I just might have to.” Ashton's hands somehow ended up on Michael’s shoulders, shaking the younger boy slightly though his voice was still low so as to not disturb the costumers and call attention to the pair behind the till.

“Ashton, I think you need to calm yourself,” Michael muttered as he tried to remove his friend’s hands from his shoulders, his grip actually a lot stronger than he thought at first. “He was one guy, Ash. You find him so hot, you go ask him out if he comes back. You have my blessing, I really couldn't give less of a fuck. Though God knows why you'd want to fuck that idiot.”

“How did you even avoid giving him your number? The boy looked like he was on cloud fucking fourteen, forget about nine!” Ashton muttered in disbelief causing Michaels hands to still, no longer trying to pull off the larger ones that gripped tightly onto his shoulders as he shrugged.

“I walked out before he got the chance to come up to me. I didn't want his number, Ash. I don't want anyone’s number. All I want is to be able to sit at home and be with my one true love: my Xbox. If I go out giving my number and shit people may actually think I'm social, or worse that I want to date!” Michael exclaimed, his voice still hushed so that no one could properly hear them over the soft music that played in the speakers that dotted around the old coffee shop. “Besides, I don't care how happy he looked. He was probably like what, sixteen? He'd probably be all dependant and clingy, like some kind of over grown puppy. Ash, I can't even take care of a fish without it dying within a week.”

“Michael Clifford, as your best friend I am going to be totally honest with you right now. If you keep turning down people over stupid crap like that you will end up as a hermit and I will be your only company. For all you know you could have broken the heart of that fragile twink. If he comes back it'll be so awkward. Damnit, Michael why are you such a recluse? I swear to God you'll die alone.” Ashton had a serious look on his face which only caused the younger boy to roll his eyes, finally prying the curly haired boy's hands off of his shoulders as he looked over the counter, noticing someone had finally gotten up and left their crap, therefore giving him a reason to excuse himself from the situation.

“As long as I have my iPod I will happily accept my life as a hermit,” He said simply, getting up from the little stool and walking around the counter before his friend could say a word, calling over his shoulder as he made his way to the empty table, coffee cup sitting and muffin wrapper curled up inside. “The hermit life is a wonderful life indeed, don't knock it till you try it, Ashy!”

As Michael picked up the little saucer and the cup that was on top of it, nudging the light weight chair with its colourful pillow back under the table he walked back to his friend with a shrug of his shoulders, waiting until he got closer to talk again as he brushed past the curly haired lad. 

“It doesn't matter anyways, hardly like I'm ever going to see him again.”

::

It was fair to say Michael was rather surprised when he did in fact see the very same blond not even a week later.

It was Friday night, Michael had the last shift in the shop which meant he would be helping Ashton close up tonight. It was twenty to nine and Michael was itching to leave, trying to will the clock forward by an extra twenty minutes so he could finally close up, grab Ashton and head off to the older boy's apartment in hopes of escaping his mother and her boyfriend for the night. It's a Friday night tradition, Michael's mum has her boyfriend over for date night while her son tries to come up with a new excuse on why he can't come and meet him. This time it was that Ashton was decorating.

“Hey, Mikey have I told you yet how much I love your new hair.”

“No,” Michael practically span on his heel whenever he heard the sheepish tone of his best friend’s voice, moving forward to prod the slightly smaller boy in the chest with a warning look. “Ashton Irwin I know that tone, don't you dare say what I think you're about to say.”

“Oh come on, Michael! You don't even know what I'm about to ask!” Ashton exclaimed which only caused his now red haired friend to scowl darkly because yes, he certainly does know what he is about to ask and no, he does not agree with it in the slightest.

“You promised, Ash. You know how much I hate my mum's boyfriend!” Michael groaned, dropping his hand so he was no longer poking his friend’s chest, if he's even a friend for doing this to him.

Michael knows that whenever Ashton compliments him that he's worried about something, more so worried about telling him something. There's only one thing that could mean today. He's bailing on him, on the one night he needs to be away from his house.

“Oh come on, Mikey. He can't be that bad!” Ashton proclaimed into the happily empty cafe. Had it not been for that this conversation wouldn't be happening considering they both know Michael isn't good with bad news and blowing up in front of costumers is a bad idea.

“He's an accountant, Ash. An accountant,” Michael groaned, putting more emphasis than necessary on the word. It wasn't that he was even a bad guy, his mum's boyfriend that is. It's more the fact that Michael knew he would automatically ask him about school, university and what he wants to do with his life or something remarkably annoying like that. Really, he was a parent’s worst nightmare, and he was dating his mother.

“So? Maybe he's nice!” Ashton said with a way too optimistic smile which just made Michael narrow his eyes at the boy as he threw down the towel onto the counter top that he had been using to wipe down the vaguely damp tables he was cleaning.

“Yeah? And maybe you're straight,” Michael muttered with a roll of his eyes as he crossed his arms across his chest childishly, leaning against the counter top with a frown on his lips. “What are you even doing anyways? I thought we had a deal. We were going to binge watch X-Men and creep on Omegle! You can't just stand up Hugh Jackman!”

“I know, I know- I'm sorry, Mike. But my mum needs me to baby sit Harry and Lauren tonight since she has a girl’s night. I'm really, really sorry,” Michael avoided looking at Ashton as he knew from the tone of his voice that he was pouting, it didn't help the matter whenever he felt his arms wrap around his waist as curly hair tickled his chin, a nose nuzzling against his neck.  
“Fuck off,” Michael mumbled, his arms still crossed against his chest as he tried out this new thing called will power: it wasn't working.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Ashton mumbled against the neck of the taller boy, nuzzling his nose against the paler of the two's skin. “You can stay at my apartment anyways if you want? I'm sorry, Mikey. I promise I'll make it up to you.”

“You better,” Michael muttered under his breath before shoving his friend away with an annoyed groan, racking a hand through his shockingly bright hair with the realisation he doesn't have will power when it comes to those big, puppy like hazel eyes. “Now give me your keys before you forget. I hope you know I will eat whatever I can find.”

The hazel eyed boy seemed hesitant at Michael’s words before sighing softly, digging around in the pocket of his apron as his friend waited, outstretched palm waiting. “Fine, fine.” He mumbled as he dropped the key into Michael’s hand, a little plush monkey hanging off the end of the key chain.

“Is that a monkey?” Michael questioned, looking down at his palm in amusement whenever he noticed his friends flushed cheeks. 

“It's a punk rock monkey so shut up, he had a bandanna okay,” Ashton mumbled which only caused his friend to roll his eyes, pocketing the keys and the monkey attached with a shake of his head.

“Whatever you say, mate,” Michael muttered as he checked the clock again, seeing that it was now only a quarter and frowning at the realisation.

Ashton seemed to notice the time as well but his reaction was a tad bit different as he cursed under his breath, hurriedly untying his apron which caused Michael to eye him in amusement. “Fuck- goddamnit, why is this knot so tight?” The shorted boy whined with a huff which only caused Michael to smile at his annoyance.

“Because you tied it like that? Why are you rushing anyways?” Michael questioned as he hopped up on the counter top after realising that no one was probably going to come in considering how late it was. It had been a pretty quiet day anyways so it wasn't that big of a deal. So he just sat up there watching as his friend pulled his apron up over his head, tossing it behind the counter as he sprinted to the kitchen where they all put their stuff until their shift was over, or under the counter like Michael.

“I'm meant to be there by nine! It takes ages to get home, shit. Fuck me, Michael, fuck my life,” Ashton called from the back, his voice muffled as Michael guessed he was trying to find his coat. Which turned out to be correct whenever the curly haired boy ran out, pulling on a denim jacket as Michael reached under the counter to pull out his friends bag.

“Just because I like dick doesn't mean I like yours, Ash,” He said as he threw his friend his bag who grabbed it with a sheepish smile.

“Let’s pretend I didn't say that, shall we?” Ashton offered as he managed to push his arm through his other sleeve, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he made a run for the door while Michael still sat, his legs swinging off the countertop.

“See you later, shitface!” The red haired boy called with a roll of his eyes that could be seen as fond as his friend ran out the door, calling something over his shoulder that the younger couldn't quite catch.

For a few moments Michael still sat, swinging his legs underneath him and watching the way his untied laces swayed about. He wasn't sure on what to do, it wasn't like he had never closed up the cafe before. He's done it a fair few times, but he's never really been alone to do it. It felt strange, he realised as he looked around the empty seats, the fireplace left unlit and the chairs all pushed in like no one was there to begin with. With a sigh, his hands pressed flat on the sleek wooden countertop before he hopped off. The soft thud of his feet hitting against the ground the only sound beyond the soft music that still played through the speakers he had long since forgotten the location of.

Checking the clock again, realising that the time has not quite changed Michael decided he may as well start closing up. As he unbuttoned the collar of his annoyingly fitted shirt, the red haired boy made his way to the back of the shop, dodging the counter and it's till as he walked into the kitchen conjoined to what they called their staff area. The 'kitchen' set up was to the right, to the left there was bags of coffee beans, a coat stand with a little table and on top of it the old mp3 that picked up pretty good radio stations connecting to wires that lead to the speakers. Michael didn't pretend to understand it, he practically failed ICT after all.

Picking up the little mp3 he unplugged it, reaching over to the coat stand to dig about in his jacket pocket and pulled out his iPod, minus the earphones before connecting it instead. Without much thought he scrolled through his playlists, all named things he probably thought were cool at the time but now made him cringe before just settling on shuffling the whole damn thing. Michael waited a moment for the music to start, smiling a bit to himself as The Strokes started playing through the old speakers, turning it up a bit higher in response.

“I didn't take no short cuts, spent the money that I saved up,” Michael murmured under his breath as he plucked the broom from the corner of the room, walking out of the kitchen with a small smile to himself, humming along to the music as he began sweeping.

Michael never really understood why he had to sweep up at closing time whenever he would just end up sweeping again in the morning, really, it defeated the purpose to him. So instead, he decided to dance with it because really, that's a far more practical use of a broom at nine pm.

It was the tickling of the bell that stopped Michael in the middle of his elaborate tango with his pretty unresponsive partner. 

“Um, are you open...?”

The red haired boy practically threw the broom away from him before scrambling to grab it before it hit the floor, cursing on the inside as he did. With hot cheeks he pushed his hand through his hair, unwilling to turn around at the voice he heard behind his back as he checked the clock. 

“Um, yeah…” He started, realising the time as he tried to push away the embarrassment that was practically suffocating him. “One second-.”

Michael tried to will away the colour of his cheeks as he propped up his broom on one of the chairs, deciding to wait a moment before turning around to whomever just stumbled in on him dancing with a broom. Knowing his luck, from the sound of the voice it'll be an attractive guy around his age, making him want to hit his head off the wall for being such an idiot. Walking over to the counter, Michael was pushing his hand through his hair again, as if it would do him any good in the long run. “So what can I get-”

“You're a red head now, then?”

“And you're still interrupting me,” Michael was rolling his eyes before he could even think as his restless hand dropped from his hair, suddenly not caring as much about making a fool of himself as he looked across at the all the familiar blond boy in front of him.

Due to the fact that the lighting was now significantly brighter than the week before when Michael could barely see the blond, he could pick out a few things he wouldn't have originally. Such as the fact the boy standing in front of him was defiantly a boy, he couldn't be older than him and that was pretty obvious. He seemed young, bright blue eyes and blond hair defying gravity in its quiff. He was tall, though only an inch or so more than the red haired boy, a loose blink-182 t-shirt hanging from his lanky frame and a blue and white jacket of some kind. Oh, and he had a lip piercing. That was an important thing to note.

“What can I say?” The blond began before Michael cut him off this time instead.

“That. Considering that is speaking after all,” The green eyed boy offered with a smirk on his lips at the way the blond boy in front of him seemed to pause, eyebrows furrowed in surprise that Michael cut him off this time around.

“Anyways,” Michael continued in an uninterested tone before the blond got a chance to say anything else, “What do you want? We're closing in like, ten minutes so order quick, blondie. I've got people to Skype and places to raid.”

“Just a regular hot chocolate then,” The blond said with a small nod of his head, as Michael turned his back to him to start about making just that, not bothering to question as to why anyone would drink hot chocolate in the summer. “Luke.”

“Excuse me?” Michael threw a look over his shoulder as he opened the fridge under the counter at the back, pulling out the milk.

“Oh,” The blond boy seemed to be shocked out of a daze that made Michael question if he was staring at his ass, and the way his eyes flickered up he realised that must be true. “My name, it's uh- it's Luke. What's yours?”

The red haired boy rolled his eyes at the boy – who he now knows as Luke – as he looked back to what he was doing again, grabbing a to-go cup from the stack without asking the boy if he wanted it to go or not. It was almost nine and Michael wasn't staying open for one guy. No matter how attractive, and as Ashton said, twinkish he may be.

“Too old for you, kid,” Michael replied as he poured the milk into one of the countless stainless steel jugs to steam it, only to put the milk back in the fridge as soon as he was done. He doesn't like leaving perishables out, it's a pet peeve.

“I'm not a kid,” The boy scoffed from behind Michael’s back who just ignored the boy as he grabbed the bottle of the chocolate syrup, pouring it into the bottom of the cup before looking back over his shoulder at the blond with a disbelieving expression.

“You sure about that? What are you, like fifteen or something?” He asked with a chuckle to himself, setting the bottle and cup back on the counter, grabbing the milk as he walked only to see out of the corner of his eyes how the blond followed him as he walked to the steamer.

“I'm seventeen,” Luke said with a huff, seeming more childlike than he did for his looks.

“Well you look twelve,” Michael said simply with a shrug as he held the jug under the spout of the steamer one handed, flipping it on as he leaned against the counter to look at the boy in amusement at the sight of colour raising to his pale cheeks.

“Well, I'm not,” The blond mumbled, looking down at his shoe clad feet as Michael bit back a smile at the action since it was rather endearing for someone so annoying.

“Could have fooled me,” The red head replied, but teasingly this time as the malice he once had faded away a bit as he flipped off the steamer after feeling the bottom of the jug and noticing it's warmth.

“But seriously, what's your name?” Michael rolled his eyes at the boy’s persistence as he was faced with the same curious blue eyes again that followed him while he walked back to the cup which he left at the other end of the counter.

“Well, if you had paid any attention the other week you would know, now wouldn't you?” Michael replied as he began pouring the milk into the cup, his back facing the blond and his curiously attractive lip piercing.

Michael always wanted a lip piercing, he got an eyebrow one instead after his mother threatened to slap him if he mangled his mouth.

“Oh come on! You're still mad about that?” Even though his words spoke otherwise, Michael had a feeling the blond behind him was blushing once again. He refused to refer to him as Luke, he decided that as he plucked up a clean spoon from the basket in front of him, stirring the chocolate into the milk.

“Well let’s think about it. It was honestly a pretty shitty day for one. Two, I had been waiting to cover that song for a few weeks now. Oh and not to mention the fact it’s unbearably rude to screech whenever someone is preforming in such a small space,” Michael began as he set the spoon aside, grabbing a lid and snapping it onto the cup as he turned back to the blond boy who was biting his lip, cheeks still a soft pink.

“Yeah, pretty pissed,” He said with a 'kind' smile that held no warmth, passing the blond boy the cup as he did. “That'll be three twenty, have a nice day.”

The blond boy had a sheepish smile on his lips as he slowly nodded his head, reaching into his pocket for his money much to Michael's relief. It was getting uncomfortably close to nine and Michael wanted to make sure he caught the last bus in time, he prefers not to walk alone in the dark ever since he started watching shows like Criminal Minds with his mum. They bond over crime shows and zombies. They're a very normal family of two.

“So,” the blond began again as his hand hovered above Michaels, change about to fall into his palm as he took the cup from the other, shaking Michael from his thoughts with a sheepish and almost hopeful look in his blue eyes which made Michael vaguely wary. “I'm guessing this would be a pretty bad time to ask for your number then?”

“You're really bad at this,” Michael commented with an unamused expression, though on the inside, he had to admit that he smiled at the persistence of the boy in front of him.

“Come on, I'm trying!” Luke exclaimed with a bit of a laugh, an easy going smile on his lips which made Michael feel oddly compelled to return. “You've gotta give me some brownie points for that at least.”

The red haired boy just rolled his eyes as he leaned his forearms on the old wood of the counter top, surveying the boy in front of him with a hint of a smile. He did have to admit, the boy’s persistence was oddly endearing but it was also annoying as hell. “You're not used to getting turned down, are you?” Michael asked slowly after noticing the blue and white varsity jacket he was wearing and the way he fiddled with his lip ring. Michael knows his type, well, knew them back when he was actually around teenagers and in high school that is – now he sounds far older than he really is.

“Oh, well...” The blonde boy trailed off, looking down at his coffee cup, fiddling with the lid of it as pink coated his cheeks much to Michael’s amusement. He blushes a lot, and it's rather endearing as well as amusing, though Michael did wish he found it annoying.

“Let me guess. Capitan of the football team, used to date a cheerleader and...” Michael trailed off for a seconded, narrowing his eyes at the blue eyed boy who only seemed to squirm under his gaze. “And you only just came out a few months ago, at most.”

Michael waited a moment, watching the boy in front of him as he seemed to try and figure out something to say, which only prompted the green eyed boy to roll his eyes slightly at the realisation the boy in front of him seemed to be a walking stereotype. Michael isn't one for stereotypes, normally he would say he doesn't even believe in them. But, whenever it comes to a reason for tuning down a guy – well, he gets real judgemental real fast to find a reason to turn them down. It's a horrible habit, but it gets the job done.  
Michael turns down guys like it's his job and he's looking to get a promotion to put it simply.

“She was actually the captain of the girl’s football team,” Luke muttered sheepishly after a moment as Michael shook his head a little, pushing himself away from the counter to go and turn off the machines behind him after noticing it was now almost five to.

“Why am I not surprised?” The red haired boy chuckled as he walked over to where the machinery sat that made his job so much easier, feeling along the wall behind the coffee machines and what not to find the switch for the mains and flipping it once he did, causing a few beeps to occur in response.

“You know you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, right?” Luke chimed from behind the red head's back. “Or you know, a poor, cute blond boy by his varsity jacket.”

“You know, I never understood that expression,” Michael commented as he grabbed one of the towel from under the counter, looking back at the blond boy as he walked back to the steamer once again. “After all, you're hardly going to pick up a book that doesn't look interesting in a store. It's the first thing you notice after all.”

“It’s cute how you constantly change the topic. Well you know it's kind of annoying, but in a cute way.”

Michael frowned at the blond boy’s words because he most certainly did not want to be called cute. Cute is for boys with sweater-paws and dimples that blush when you compliment them. No, Michael Clifford is most certainly not cute. Michael Clifford is a man – well, he's nineteen – he likes his coffee black, his music punk and his guys submissive. Michael Clifford is not cute. At least, he likes to pretend he isn't.

“I am not cute,” Michael dead panned as he wiped off the nozzle of the steamer, a frown on his lips at the thought.

“Come on, you're cute,” The blond replied, not seeming to understand how unamused Michael was by that statement as he grinned all bright blue eyes and black lip ring standing out, much like the stud Michael had in his eyebrow but that was hardly the point.

“Do not call me cute,” Michael muttered as he rolled his eyes, desperately trying to think of something he could do, clean or whatever to give him an excuse to walk past the blond. Unluckily for him, he happened to have been just about finished clearing up whenever Ashton left.

“Oh, but you are adorable,” Luke smirked, lips tugging to the side as Michael fumed in the corner. He wasn't sure what was bothering him so much about the comment since secretly he loved it whenever a guy called him cute, it made him feel special. He's not anywhere near feminine, and he couldn't exactly call himself a bottom when he's only been with a few guys and – well, those times won't be mentioned since they were heavily dependent on alcohol and Michael remembers very little of what happened. To cut a long story short, Michael kind of likes being called cute even though he isn't – but Luke was bugging him.

“Since when are you so confident? Have you finally learned a language other than awkward teen?” Michael replied a moment later, lips pursed, a habit he picked up from watching his mum around his dad before they broke up. His mother didn't stand for anyone’s shit, she raised him the same.

Much to the red heads joy, Luke's cheeks tinged a pink colour again at the comment, probably remembering back to how he stuttered and got on the week before. Michael smirked to himself at the blond seemed to stumble over his words, trying to think of some kind of come back while the red haired boy simply folded up the cloth he held, tossing it onto the pile by the steamer as he untied his apron from around his waist after check the time quickly again.

“If you keep your mouth open any longer you'll start catching flies,” Michael commented simply as he reached into the pouch of his apron, pulling out Ashton’s keys – monkey still dangling from the keychain – as he folded the black apron over his arm. “By the way we're closing and your drink is getting cold,” He added finally before walking through the door out to the kitchen, it wasn't even really a door, just the frame and a curtain of beads that jangled a lot.

Michael had hopes, as he unplugged his iPod from the wires connecting it to the speakers, that Luke would leave now. After all, there was no real reason for the boy to actually stay, all he's doing is wasting Michaels time and ignoring the drink he made for him. It wasn't even that Michael disliked Luke, he just doesn't want to date him. It wasn't really anything about the blond, it was just the fact that Michael doesn't date. He's never been one for those petty relationships people get into in high school where they only last a few months at most. Michael is a drop out but he has a job and sure he's living with his mum but he's trying to save up enough to be able to move out. Luke seemed like that popular guy that's so down-to-earth everyone loved him and he was probably going somewhere with his life. Michael decided they were too different to work before he could even find out if the boy was anything like he guessed. Michael grabbed his jacket from the coat rack stuffing the keys and his iPod inside his pockets after setting his apron on the table, knowing he'd just pick it up in the morning when it's his shift instead of pointlessly taking it with him.

Michael thought Luke had left as he shrugged on his old leather jacket after he had turned off the mains in the kitchen, only the lights left on and the blinds to close as he walked out, so seeing his back to him made him a tad bit surprised. 

“Don't you have something better to do on a Friday night than chase after a guy you're not going to get?” Michael questioned as he made his way to the counter, dismissing the boy’s slight jump at his sudden words as he reached under the counter to pull out his bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Nope,” The blond boys chipper voice made Michael want to cringe as he narrowed his eyes at Luke who turned back to face him, coffee cup between his hands and a smile on his lips like he had just been complimented.

“Are you always this happy?” Michael muttered as he walked around the counter, reaching into his pocket for his keys as the blond followed after him.

“Pretty much, yeah,” He said, causing Michael – one of the most negative people – to frown once again as he shook his head.

“You know, you remind me of something,” The red haired boy said simply, noticing how the blond boy followed him to the doors for him to stop beside, grabbing hold of the cord that hung beside the window and pulling on it so the blinds came down – and after a bit of fiddling proceeded to close. Luke seemed to continue following after him as Michael spoke, while the pair weaved through pointless tables to where the light switches were. They were placed at the other side of the shop, which was pretty stupid considering that it meant whoever turned them off would have to walk through the obstacle course of tables and miss matched chairs. “Probably my aunt’s terrier.”

“Really?” Came Luke's response after a short pause, which Michael guessed was only caused from him drinking some of his hot chocolate which thinking about it, Michael was beginning to crave a tad. “What's it like?”

“Dead,” Michael said nonchalantly as he reached the wall, shrugging his shoulders as he looked back at Luke's surprised face, hand of the light switch. “It was really hyper and happy, it ran out in front of a car for a ball and ended up road kill.”

“Well that's pleasant,” Luke mumbled, raising his drink to his lips again as Michael flipped off the light switches.

“I was going to make a pun about shedding light on the situation, but then I remembered I don't like you so therefore you don't get to experience my amazing jokes,” Michael said simply as he began weaving his way back to the door of the store through the tables and chairs, only to turn around and notice in the slight dark that the blond boy that had been following him had stopped.

“It's really fucking dark.”

Michael rolled his eyes at the boy stating the obvious. “Yeah, no shit.”

“I have a bad feeling I'm going to fall right on my face by tripping over a chair, you know.”

“Go right ahead, may make you better looking.”

“You're really mean.” Michael didn't need to see Luke to know he was probably blushing, maybe even pouting since he seemed like the type.

“Come on then,” With a heavy sigh as if the mere thought bothered him – which it did not, but that wasn't for the other to know – Michael moved back through the maze of chairs, grabbing the hand of the blond boy just to tug him along behind him. He also made sure to ignore the way his hand was just that bit smaller and seemed to fit with the younger boys because that really sounded far too cliché.

Michael had a feeling that the blond that followed behind him so quietly didn't even need his help. Scratch that, from the way the boy didn't seem to be wary of where he stepped, and the fact he grasped onto the red haired boys hand confidently made Michael know that the blond probably just wanted his attention or something of the like and didn't actually need any help whatsoever. Yet, he couldn't really find it within him to be annoyed at that.

There were stripes of light on the floor which made it apparent that they were getting closer to the door. The cafe wasn't even in pitch darkness, it was just absent of most light. Michael didn't need to hold out a hand or anything of the like as he knew the place like the back of his hand, therefore knew when to stop before he walked into the door like he had done a few times in the past.

“You know, you can let go of me now,” Michael said suddenly after coming to a stop in front of the door. Monkey key chain still in his hand as he fiddled with the keys it held.

“Oh- uh, yeah-. Whoops, sorry about that,” Came the blonds reply as he pulled his hand away.

(Though truthfully, he didn't sound at all surprised or sorry for it.)

Michael just rolled his eyes, though whether or not he was smiling was no one's business.

(He was, but that really wasn't the point.)

With the lights off, keys in hand and all machines that could have been active now switch off, Michael opened the door of the little cafe, breathing in fresh air for the first time in hours. He expected that upon stepping over the threshold, then Luke would finally leave. But he didn't.

“So, where to now?” The blonde asked a moment or so later, after Michael had closed the door to the now still coffee shop, hand on the handle as he locked the door.

“I'm going home and you're going to get a life,” He said, smirk playing at his lips. He knew if Ashton were there he would get shit for it, the curly haired lad knowing he only gets that look whenever he's flirting or messing around. It's obviously the latter on this occasion. (Well, mostly.)

“Then go out with me. After all, having a date is a step towards having a life, right?”

“You won't give up, will you?”

By this point, Michael turned so his back was against the door which he had just locked, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the blonde before him shrug, a grin on his face which the other seemed to mirror.

“Never.”

With that, Michael let out a soft sigh, smile dancing on his lips as he held his hand out to the boy in the varsity jacket before him. “Give me your hand.”

The seventeen year old practically blanched at that, causing the elder of the two to quirk an eyebrow in amusement at the action. “Why…?” He asked slowly, blue eyes observing Michaels outstretched hand as if it was possibly hostile or at the least dirty.

“You're such an idiot,” With that, the nineteen year old grabbed the others hand who – despite not pulling away and running off into the night – seemed a little confused and even worried. Michael wasn't sure what he was worried about as he pulled a pen out from his jacket pocket after a little struggle, having to hold the cap between his teeth while squinting his eyes in the dark to try and see what he was writing.

Capping the pen, Michael wasted no time in dropping the blond's hand before moving away simply, as if the whole exchange never happened.

“Hey, where are you going?” He heard the blond shout from behind him.

But Michael only smiled as he walked on, shoving his hands into his pockets while listening to the tap of his feet against the pavement. If anyone walked by, they would have seen the smile on his lips. 

“Home,” He said simply, shaking his head a little, “And you're going to get a life.”

Had he looked back, perhaps he would have noticed how the seventeen year old boy stood in front of the now darkened cafe, looking down at his hand with a smile impossibly large. Maybe it was because for the first time in his life, someone actually noticed him and didn't just tell him to fuck off. But maybe it was because of the number scrawled onto his hand with a simple line underneath.

“You're annoying, it's cute xx”.


End file.
